The Big City; Now Staging A Revival: Humiliation

By JOHN TIERNEY

Published: April 12, 2000

''SEEKING actors and actresses,'' the ad in Backstage announced, ''to write and perform their own short monologues for 'Big Kiss: An Evening of Humiliating Audition Stories.' '' The idea was to relive one of the most excruciating moments of your life, but this time in front of a large audience, and with the additional inducement promised in the ad: ''No pay.''

What actor could resist? You don't have to be in theater to be humiliated here -- it's the traditional New York greeting to every ambitious provincial -- but no one gets to experience it as often and as rawly as actors do. More than 100 offered to audition their worst audition stories.

''We got a bucketful of indignity and heartache,'' said Henry Alford, a director of the project and author of arguably the definitive work on theatrical humiliation, ''Big Kiss: One Actor's Desperate Attempt to Claw His Way to the Top.'' It is inarguably the definitive work on the theatrical career of Mr. Alford, an investigative humorist who at the age of 34 set out to become an actor.

He trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in England, played an extra in ''Godzilla,'' took his 69-year-old mother with him to improvisational comedy camp and auditioned for the role of Wilbur the Pig in ''Charlotte's Web.'' He didn't get the pig role, but he did become a host of a program on VH1, ''Rock of Ages.''

The evening of humiliation was co-directed by Mr. Alford's editor at Random House, Jonathan Karp. ''The most common traumas,'' Mr. Karp said, recalling the selection process, ''were exposed breasts and unzipped pants. Our biggest disappointment was one actor who skipped his audition. He had sent us a letter about having to read the female part in a Rogaine commercial, and I was really curious to see where he'd go with that.''

The eight winning losers appeared Monday night at the Westside Theater with Mr. Alford, who recounted his failure to get a permanent gig as a phone sex operator. (His blunder was trying to discuss a Virginia Woolf novel.) Another botched attempt at erotica was re-enacted by Greta Enzer, who had auditioned, in costume, for the role of a copulating koala.

Matt Meyer described his own animal adventures during an audition for the role of a teenage farm boy whose father breeds fighting cocks. The director ordered Mr. Meyer and the 10 other aspirants to get on stage and become the ''the most vicious, ferocious cocks you can be.''

The result was an ''absolutely terrifying'' 10 minutes, Mr. Meyer recalled as he reprised his rooster role. ''There are people pecking at you. There's horrifying cock-a-doodle-doing. I swear I heard some moos, and, like, sheep noises in there. It was like some weird Jimi Hendrix-flavored chicken hallucination. We were 11 classically trained, sweating, humiliated -- cocks.'' And then none of them got the part because the director decided they all looked too old to be a (human) teenager.

Victoria Labalme demonstrated the difficulty of following a director's orders to be cheerful but stern while sprinkling in a giggle and adding some sexuality to the line, ''Do you think we're out of our minds to sell Denny's Grand Slam Breakfast for just $1.99?''

Lewis Berg, who without any dance training had gone to a group audition for a Broadway chorus, donned once again the polka-dotted boxer shorts, drooping tights and size-15 Rockport black dress shoes that had set him apart from the professional dancers whose toes he crushed.

THE strangest story came from Micheline Auger, who had auditioned for a performance piece in ''Live and Let Die,'' a SoHo art exhibition.

''It's about life; it's about death; it's about process, man,'' she said, repeating the artistic rationale for her particular role: sitting in the middle of the gallery next to a pile of her own excrement. The story got worse from there. She got the gig.

But she appeared buoyed by the end of the show Monday, and so did the other actors.

''Once you call yourself a pathetic loser,'' Mr. Alford explained, ''you take that power away from others. You've reclaimed your pathos.'' He suggested that nonthespians could benefit from similar cathartic exercises.

''Every profession has job interviews and humiliating moments,'' he said. ''We all have days when we feel there's a sign hanging over our heads, 'Favorite Beatle: Ringo.' Imagine if postal workers had an evening like this. We could save some lives.''